"I will be your undoing, doctor. Just as you have been mine."
Being his physician, I knew his length and girth well, and I also knew that taking something of that size inside of me would not be easy. Not once had I questioned why he always had an erection during my examinations. Not once had I wondered why he needed them so frequently. But now I understood: it was the only way he could feel my touch.
The spit-slickened skin of his cockhead rested against my entrance for a few moments before he began pushing into me. I hissed through gritted teeth as he worked the head into my hole, the slow, intense burning increasing as he opened me up.
I let out a growl of anger at the pain, and Holmes, through heavy breaths, said, "stop fighting me, you're making it worse. Relax and let me in."
"I…can't…"
My whole body was rigid and tense from the intrusion, but my length seemed to get even harder. Sweat dripped from my furrowed brow and my hands gripped their restraints so tightly it hurt. I could barely breathe as he pushed farther and farther into me, forcing his way forward. I felt as through a spike was being driven through my body, splitting me in half. Finally, he was still.
"It's all the way in now, so just relax." Sherlock was pushing the hair from my forehead and stroking my body in calming movements as his member twitched inside of me, needing to move. "You're doing fine, John," he said as though I were a child being rewarded for staying still while the doctor gives a vaccination.
"It…hurts. Don't move…" But his length began pushing in and out in tiny strokes, the friction like striking a match inside of me, until he was pulling almost all of the way out before forcing himself back in. He was hitting that light switch with his sex again, causing my eyelids to resume their fireworks display, and slowly, slowly, the pleasure overtook the pain, surpassed it without suppressing it. The pain remained but was hidden behind the blinding jolts of electric perfection that exploded through my body on every upward thrust.
It was like listening to a train traveling through a long tunnel—the sound echoing in the darkness, drawing nearer and nearer, the headlight becoming visible, then blinding, the sound moving from faint to thunderous until all you can hear, see and smell is the train as it emerges.
Holmes drove in faster, harder, his hissing and panting and gasping fueling my fires even more until orgasm was inevitable. My own mewls of pleasure and grunts of pain joined his sounds without shame now, a cacophony of desire. Shame, regret, betrayal: all meant nothing in the face of that indisputable pleasure.
When I thought that I could take no more, he reached around and took hold of my erect member, pumping it in time with his thrusts. I could barely hear his whispered order as I lost myself to the orgasm that wracked my body: "That's right John, come for me…"
My climax was forced from me, painful and consuming. It seemed to last a lifetime. Finally, my body went limp against Holmes, completely spent and empty of thought or emotion. I didn't even fight him when, seconds later, he gave one last hard thrust and came inside of me, teeth digging into my shoulder, hands clawing at my hips, my name escaping his lips in a flow of swear words. If I hadn't been suspended, I would likely have collapsed in the moonlit dust of the cellar and slept for days. All I could hear was heavy breathing.
I barely noticed when he pulled out of me and popped open another bottle of wine. He took a swig and stood in front of me, shirt untucked and trousers hanging from his hips. Surveying me like livestock, Holmes ran those lithe, strong hands over my body and I did nothing to resist. I could feel his come leaking out of me, dripping down my legs, not letting me forget for a moment what I had become.
He stepped forward and nuzzled his unshaven cheeks into my neck, lips painting a stream of kisses along my jawline. "I swear, Watson…you will be the death of me." As if I was his weakness, his downfall. All the while, here I was, weak from his touch, suffering defeat at the hands of this man. I could say nothing.
It was clear that I had no more fight left in me, and so Sherlock took a knife from his coat pocket and cut me free from my bonds, letting me fall to my knees before him. His form loomed over me and he lifted my chin up roughly to face him. "Does it hurt, doctor?" There was pain and a strange sort of sincerity in his eyes, and his unfaltering gaze coaxed me to answer him in a weak voice.
"Yes…it hurts." What I didn't tell him was how right it had felt, how the pain had rippled into waves of pleasure and overwhelmed me entirely.
"Let me play doctor then," he said in all seriousness. He pulled several tablets from a pillbox in his pocket and took hold of my chin again, pulling my lips open with his thumb. I tried to turn my head away, not knowing what the pills might contain, but he gripped my jaw firmly in his hand and dropped the pills down my throat. He then tipped my head back and held the wine bottle to my mouth, pouring the warm liquid down my throat and forcing the pills down as I choked and sputtered, the wine leaking down my body in rivulets.
"Drink up, John." I gagged, but Holmes held my jaw so tightly I thought it might come unhinged. I struggled to relax my throat muscles and let the wine slide into me. He emptied half the contents of the bottle down my throat before letting me up for air.
Gasping for breath and dripping wet, I had to ask.
"…Holmes, what have you done?"
I was broken, crying at his feet like a child. I could not believe that this was the same man I had known for years, taking in my conquered form like a glass of wine—savoring the sight, swishing it around in his mouth to taste the different notes. The aroma of my defeat seemed to delight him. I should have been disgusted. I should have reviled him. I should have been, above all, horrified at the turn of events. "Should" is the key word there.
"Just a muscle relaxer and some pain pills I had the apothecary make especially for you. I think you'll like the effects they have on the male anatomy…" A smirk crept up his face in a most devious fashion, leaving me to assume the worst.
"You wouldn't…" I had thought that my humiliation was over. That I would be allowed to suffer in private once the deed was done. I couldn't have been more wrong. Holmes let go of me and I scurried away from him, already beginning to feel my body tingle from the medicine. I thought of Mary, of the marriage that would never happen. Not now, not after this. One last time, I pleaded with him. "Please…you got what you wanted, now end this. I can't take anymore…"
"Don't worry, Watson, that's what the pills are for. Soon, you'll be begging me for more. And we've got all night, maybe longer. You know how incompetent the police are." His eyes sparkled with the prospect. "Until then, you are all mine."